Gods and Prophets
by Akino
Summary: When man forgets his origins, he may just be forced to remember them in the most unpleasant way. The people of Gaea will soon face the re-emergence of the old gods and new schisms will divide them all more than ever before. Rating may be changed later.
1. Developments

Disclaimer: I don't own The Vision of Escaflowne. If I did, I really don't think that there would be a disclaimer here in the first place…

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Chapter One: Gods and Prophets

The streets were shadowy and discomforting, even with the shining stars and Mystic Moon hanging in the sky. She walked alone down the middle of one wide street, her gaze fixed on the mountains that provided the backdrop for what would eventually be a beautiful palace. Suddenly, the girl stopped in her tracks and watched in wide-eyed horror as flames erupted in the clouds and searing lightning flashed among the tips of the mountain peaks. She choked on her cry and was unable to move, she simply watched as the fiery clouds burned even more brightly. She did not notice the growing crack in the rock under her feet until a tremor forced her to her knees and chunks of rock rose into the air.

The girl yelped and reached out for something to keep herself steady and caught nothing but air. Where was her winged savior? What about the people in the houses and businesses that bordered the street?

The fire from the clouds descended with a startling swiftness and she soon found herself enveloped in flames. And all she could do was scream.

***

Kanzaki Hitomi opened her eyes and gasped for breath. She sat up in her bed and pushed aside the blankets that covered her lithe body. Though her room was cold and the blankets barely enough to keep her warm at night, sweat beaded up on her forehead and rolled down between her shoulder blades and breasts. After several gulps of air, her sight came into focus and she found comfort in her surroundings. She was in her room, safe and sound. There was no fire, no lightning, no splitting earth.

She ran a trembling hand through her short hair and fell back to the mattress. Odds were not too high that she would fall back to sleep after a dream so vivid and terrifying as the one she had just experienced, but she could try anyway. Hitomi frowned. _And just what was that dream about?_ she asked herself.

It was a nightmare, it had to be; she hadn't had a premonition since leaving Gaea. But the dream was as realistic as a vision, and nearly as confusing. She didn't even know where the dream had taken place. Hitomi rolled onto her side and watched the falling snowflakes pass her bedroom window. The dream did have that air of importance, however unlikely that it was of any significance. Perhaps she was just imagining things…

Unfortunately, even as she was drifting into the cradling hold of sleep, Hitomi could not help but feel unnerved.

***

Drums and boots thumped loudly, creating a rhythmic beat, like that of a heart. Shouts of encouragement accompanied the pulse, as well as the rattling of swords in their sheaths. Neither were heard by the two men who circled each other. They moved with the grace of dancers, their booted feet seeming almost to glide on the grass that was still wet with dew. Both had their swords drawn and ready; only their methodic breathing belied the relaxed looks on their faces.

One of the men, a blonde with the stubble of a beard on his chin, took note when his opponent suddenly shifted his grip. He side-stepped as the older man lunged forward and easily avoided the elder's attack. He smirked and shook his head slightly- the older man was not charging nearly aggressively enough. The blonde countered with a feint and then a slash that left the older bleeding from a cut on his upper arm.

"You telegraph far too much, Paol," the blonde informed him, laughing. His self-assurance was undermining the older man's own confidence, and Rian knew it.

"And you are too sure of yourself," Paol retorted. Blood trickled down to his wrist and then onto his hand. Grimacing, he rotated his sword arm shoulder and prepared to attack again. He admitted grimly, "You certainly have improved some since the last time you challenged me."

Rian's smile only grew. "Come now, old man. I think it's more than just _some_ improvement." His heart pounded ruthlessly in his chest and his blood grew heated with excitement. It was not merely bloodshed that made a fight beautiful, but the feeling that one got from it. Rian could feel his opponent's strength giving way, taste his nervousness. It was _wonderful_. "I'm much better, as you are soon to discover. And, unlike you, I won't make the mistake of letting _my_ opponent live."

His words were lost to the older man, but the dangerous glitter in his eyes was enough to let Paol know that this was his last fight.

Rian's sword drank blood and the prophet of the darkness moved one step higher in the rankings of power.

***

Van Fanel pressed his seal into the hot wax, leaving behind the mark that would indicate that the king of Fannelia had given his approval to whatever was detailed in the document. A page ran up, added the parchment to a short stack of papers, and ducked out of the way as Van sighed and stretched. The mornings were always filled with conferences with foreign officials, dealings with paperwork, and information reports. That last document meant the end of his morning business and he was finally free to take care of some more localized issues. Such as that of the construction of the new amphitheater.

"Milord."

Van lifted his head and saw the commander of his guard standing at full attention. The man's complexion was alarmingly pale and his brows were furrowed in anger. "Yes?" Van nodded. "Is something wrong, Damen?"

The commander swallowed hard. "Sir, I bring you news. From the southern border villages." Damen's posture remained rigid. "A border village was attacked about a week ago. No one knew about it until a farmer was going to market and found nothing but ashes and bodies."

Van stood, his cloak rippling. "Take me," he demanded furiously.

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Okay, so that wasn't too great and it's uncommonly short by my standards, but oh well. What do you want for only one can of soda? That's right, there is far too much blood in my caffeine system right now. Read, review, and I might just go get some more. Well, I'll probably re-caffeinate anyway, but a review would still be nice.

- Akino


	2. Audaces Fortuna Iuvat

Disclaimer: I _still_ don't own Escaflowne, so bugger off.

I can't believe I'm updating already, but I suppose that's what happens when you have far too much free time (or pretend to). The next chapter or so will focus largely on the emergence of the prophets; don't worry, I'm still going to put the main characters from the series into the spotlight. This _is_ their show, after all.

One last thing before I begin- I just wanted to send a wave out to the people who reviewed my first chapter. Even the most basic of reviews is bound to give me some motivational boost. Heh.

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Chapter Two: Audaces Fortuna Iuvat

The still air around the village did nothing to help at all with the stench of charred flesh, nor did the heat. Not even a week earlier, birds could be heard singing, dogs and children would have been running rampant, and the market would have been filled to the point of bursting. Now the birds were silent, the dogs and children were dead or orphaned, the market was as deserted as it was on a winter night.

Kile grunted, hefting another body onto the newest pile of corpses, and quickly stumbled backward to put as much distance as possible between his own living body and those that would soon be burned. His parents and little sisters had lain on their own pyres. Kile's father had always been a man of pride and dignity and Kile felt that it was only right to give each of them their own pyre, even if it meant more work for him.

At first, the loss of his family did not even seem real. It was like a dream that he could wake from at any moment. It wasn't until he had begun to help the other survivors that it finally sank in. He realized that he would never again play bandits or hide-and-go-peek with the twins, taste one of his mother's delicious honey cakes, or even smell the tobacco his father used in his pipe. It was all gone.

Lifting his misty sight from the ground to the sky, he saw a band of dark clouds lingering on the horizon. "Grown men don't cry," he whispered to himself, grasping the hilt of his father's sword. The sharp length of steel hung awkwardly about his waist and he had only the slightest idea how to use it, but he wore it nonetheless. It was a minor comfort. Kile rubbed his eyes with the back of one grimy hand and blamed his tears on the smoke.

He began to walk back to the baker's shop, where the last bodies had come from, when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. Kile spun around, expecting the blacksmith's wife- she was continually trying to get him to rest- and came face to face with a tall, regal man in creaking leather armor and a tunic of vibrant blues and greens. Then Kile saw the emblem that stood out proudly over the man's heart. His eyes grew wide in recognition- this was a man of the royal guard!

"S-sir!"

The guard looked grim. "Boy, what happened here? Who attacked?"

Kile's brows furrowed in confusion and he asked, "Who attacked where?"

"Was there not an attack?" When Kile did not respond immediately, the guard's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Was there not an attack?" he repeated. "Answer me, boy!"

"Hold. What's going on, Damen?"

Kile was surprised even further to see another man, this one on a horse, ride up close and intervene. This one was younger and his armor more detailed and, no doubt, of a better quality. He held himself straight and tall not as the result of discipline, but out of self confidence and pride- it was the same way Kile's father held himself. Oddly enough, Kile felt more comfortable with this stranger although he supposed that the man on the horse was also somewhat imposing.

"Sir," Kile began, "I don't understand the question. There was no attack here."

Both of the men exchanged a perplexed glance. The guard released Kile and turned to the one on the horse. "Milord, the farmer _did_ say that this was the village."

"Milord?" Kile tilted his head and squinted up at the horsed man. "He's a lord?"

The guard whirled on Kile and grabbed the collar of his tunic, yanking him forward. "Insolence will not be tolerated," he growled. "That's the king!"

"L-lord Van?" Kile stammered. He instantly dropped to the ground in a half-crouch. "I'm sorry, milord."

"Don't worry about it." The dark-haired man- no, the _king_- swung off of his horse and motioned for the guard to move aside. "Don't mind Damen," he said. "He's just takes his job too seriously sometimes. You can stand up now, by the way."

Reluctantly, Kile stood. As a younger boy, he had heard stories of how the famous boy king of Fannelia had helped to save Gaea from destruction only three years ago. Kile and his friends had always imagined him as intimidating, taller than any other swordsman alive, and with biceps as large around as barrels. The savior of Gaea would, of course, also have a fierce scowl that would scare all of his opponents into surrendering immediately.

Now that he was closer and Kile could see better, he found out that he was wrong. The king was actually average in height, sinewy- but not bulgy-, charismatic in a friendly way, and did not look the type of person who could scare any soldier by scowling. He also seemed rather informal standing there dressed in a common cotton tunic and breeches.

"So if there was no attack, then what happened here?" the king asked, breaking Kile from his reverie.

Kile motioned to the pyres. There were at least ten in all- he hadn't really bothered to count them. All he knew was that the village square was temporarily hosting one big funeral. "A strange disease, milord. No one is really sure what it is- or was. It swept in quickly and killed all but perhaps a quarter of the village."

"How did it come here? And how did it kill so many in so little time?"

"I don't know." Kile stared off into the flames. "The sickness- whatever it was- kills its victims within a few hours. There hasn't been a death in two days, so we think it's safe now. Even so, we're burning the bodies."

"A wise plan." The king scanned the area. "Damen."

The guard stepped up. "Milord?"

"Order the men to help these people with the dead. I want this place clean enough to live in again by the end of the day."

"Yes, milord."

He turned back to Kile. "What is your name?"

Kile snapped back. "Kile, milord."

The king nodded. "Just call me Van. I don't care too much for formalities and since I know your name, I think it is only right that you know mine."

"Yes mi- Van…"

Van smiled. "That's an interesting sword you're carrying. It has the royal seal on its pommel. Was your father a soldier under my father's rule?"

Kile stood a little straighter and said, "Yes. Well, he was until my little sisters were born."

"So where is the rest of your family?" Van appeared thoughtful and the way he asked his question made Kile think that the king was trying to tread ground carefully.

"They're… gone," was all he said. It was enough, he could tell Van understood by the look in his eyes. "Alli and Elli were two of the first in the village to die, after father. Mother stayed with the three of them but told me to leave because she didn't want me to get sick, too. When I came back, they were all dead." Kile became aware of the liquid building up in his eyes once more and tried to hold them back.

"It's alright, I understand," murmured the king. Kile peered up in wonder. Van looked rather solemn and even empathetic. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Thirteen."

"Is there anyone you can stay with here? Any family or friends?"

Kile shook his head. "They're all dead. I'm sure the blacksmith will take me in though. His wife seems pretty intent on taking all of the… orphans," he said the word as if it didn't apply to him- it just didn't feel right, "in to her home. I'll probably just find an apprenticeship."

Van clapped a hand on Kile's shoulder, in a friendly way. "Why don't you come up to the capital with us?"

"Milord?"

"It's Van, remember? Anyway, you seem to be the type of person we could really use around there. I could probably find a good guymelif pilot or knight to squire you to."

Van led Kile away from the village square and Kile began to think, for the first time in days, of his future. Later, when confronted by Damen, Van simply shrugged and replied with, "I can't explain it, I've just got this weird feeling that I did the right thing."

***

"Hello-o! Earth to Hitomi!"

"Hmm?" Hitomi peeled her eyes away from the water lapping at the rocks of the bay and faced her friend. "What is it, Yukari?"

"Are you alright?" Her friend tucked a few loose strands of her hair back behind her ear.

Smiling, she nodded. "I'm fine," she said. Hitomi then glanced down at her wristwatch as if she was merely bored. In truth, it was the inescapable suspicion that she was overlooking something important. She tried to listen to Yukari, who apparently had gone off into another one-sided conversation.

"And you know, it's really too bad that you gave up your tarot cards. That really was fun how you were almost always right in predicting things."

Hitomi shrugged. "I guess it just got old," she lied. "When are Hanae and Kimiko supposed to get here? Weren't they supposed to be here ten minutes ago?"

"Yeah."

Yukari kept talking and Hitomi stared off into the water once more, trying to avoid the tingling at the back of her neck. For some reason, she was beginning to get the feeling that something drastic was going to happen- and soon.

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I know, I know. It's short again. Oh well. It's Sunday night and I've got to go to school tomorrow. Unfortunately. I'll probably end up updating again fairly soon though, so that will make up for the shortness and lack of plot movement. I just really wanted to get things set up first before there was too much advancement.

- Akino


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